HPX: Harry Potter and the March of the Sentinels
by BackslashEcho
Summary: Harry has never been what you'd call normal, and he generally expects the unexpected to happen all the time when he's concerned. But what's a guy to think when, barely an hour after he saves his cousin from Dementors, the two of them are attacked by Sentinels? Luckily, the X-Men arrive in time to pull them to safety. But what will the Order of the Phoenix say? [Pairings undecided].
1. First Contact

The hottest day of the summer so far was drawing to a close and a drowsy silence lay over the large, square houses of Privet Drive. Cars that were usually gleaming stood dusty in their drives and lawns that were once emerald green lay parched and yellowing—the use of hosepipes had been banned due to drought. Deprived of their usual car-washing and lawn-mowing pursuits, the inhabitants of Privet Drive had retreated into the shade of their cool houses, windows thrown wide in the hope of tempting in a nonexistent breeze. The only person left outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flowerbed outside number four.

He was a skinny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who has grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of his trainers were peeling away from the uppers. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the neighbours, who were the sort of people who thought scruffiness ought to be punishable by law, but as he had hidden himself behind a large hydrangea bush this evening he was quite invisible to passersby. In fact, the only way he would be spotted was if his Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia stuck their heads out of the living-room window and looked straight down into the flowerbed below.

On the whole, Harry thought he was to be congratulated on his idea of hiding here. He was not, perhaps, very comfortable lying on the hot, hard earth, with his arms visibly crisscrossed with dozens of scratches from the rosebush he had brushed past to get here…but on the other hand, nobody was glaring at him, grinding their teeth so loudly that he could not hear the news, or shooting nasty questions at him, as had happened every time he had tried sitting down in the living room to watch television with his aunt and uncle.

Almost as though this thought had fluttered through the open window, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, suddenly spoke.

"Glad to see the boy's stopped trying to butt in. Where is he, anyway?"

"I don't know," replied Aunt Petunia, unconcerned. "Not in the house."

Uncle Vernon grunted.

"'Watching the news'…" he said scathingly. "I'd like to know what he's really up to. As if a normal boy cares what's on the news. Dudley hasn't got a clue what's going on; doubt he knows who the Prime Minister is! Anyway, it's not as if there'd be anything about _his_ lot on _our_ news—"

"Vernon, shh!" said Aunt Petunia. "The window's open!"

"Oh. Yes. Sorry, dear."

The Dursleys fell silent. Harry listened to a jingle about Fruit 'n' Bran breakfast cereal while he watched Mrs Figg, a batty, cat-loving old lady who lived nearby, amble slowly past. She was frowning and muttering to herself. Harry was very pleased he was concealed behind the bush, as Mrs Figg had recently taken to asking him round for tea whenever she met him in the street. She had rounded the corner and vanished from view before Uncle Vernon's voice floated out of the window again.

"Dudders out for tea?"

"At the Polkisses'," said Aunt Petunia fondly. "He's got so many little friends, he's so popular…"

Harry suppressed a snort with difficulty. The Dursleys really were astonishingly stupid about their son, Dudley. They had swallowed all his dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of his gang every night of the summer holidays. Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley had not been to tea anywhere; he and his gang spent every evening vandalising the play park, smoking on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. Harry had seen them at it during his evening walks around Little Whinging; he had spent most of the holidays wandering the streets, scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.

The opening notes of the music that heralded the eight o'clock news reached Harry's ears just as the sun began to disappear behind the houses opposite, and Harry's stomach seemed to turn over. Perhaps tonight—after a month of waiting—would be the night…

"For our first story this evening, the numbers of demonstrators outside Westminster Hall are growing, as a group calling for mutant equality continues their petition to the Houses of Parliament."

"Give the freaks a nice long prison sentence for disrupting Parliamentary business, I would," snarled Uncle Vernon over the end of the newsreader's sentence. "Right to petition belongs to normal people!"

Outside in the flowerbed, however, Harry's stomach unclenched. If anything had happened, it would surely have been the first item on the news; death and destruction were more important than demonstrations to Parliament.

Still, Harry thought the mutants made an interesting contrast to the wizarding world—really, the public reaction to the recent rise in mutant activity was about the same as the feared response to the breaking of the Statute of Secrecy. The only difference being that the mutant population was scattered, and so lacked a hidden world to support them.

Harry didn't have much of an opinion either way about mutants. He couldn't exactly blame anyone for having a strange power they didn't understand, or feeling that a strange destiny had been forced on them, now could he? Harry figured that, despite whatever prejudices people seemed to have against mutants, they weren't that different from wizards, overall.

He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his head — _Honestly, what does it matter if they have some special powers? So do we; any wizard can fly, using a broomstick, or conjure water from thin air! Why should it seem odd to us if a mutant can do something similar? _

Belatedly, Harry tuned back in to the news broadcast: "—and finally, Bungy the budgie has found a novel way of keeping cool this summer. Bungy, who lives at the Five Feathers in Barnsley, has learned to water ski! Mary Dorkins went to find out more."

Harry rolled his eyes. If they had reached water-skiing parakeets, there would be nothing else worth hearing. He rolled cautiously on to his front and raised himself on to his knees and elbows, preparing to crawl out from under the window.

He had moved about two inches when several things happened in very quick succession.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from under a parked car and flew out of sight; a shriek, a bellowed oath and the tinkle of breaking china came from the Dursleys' living room, and as though this was a signal Harry had been waiting for, he jumped to his feet, at the same time pulling from the waistband of his jeans a thin wooden wand as if he were unsheathing a sword—but before he could draw himself up to full height, the top of his head collided with the Dursleys' open window. The resultant crash made Aunt Petunia scream even louder.

Harry felt as though his head had been split in two. Eyes streaming, he swayed, trying to focus on the street to spot the source of the noise, but he had barely staggered upright when two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.

"Put! It! Away!' Uncle Vernon snarled into Harry's ear. "Now! Before anyone sees!"

"Get! Off! Me!" Harry gasped back.

For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncle's sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wand; then, as the pain in the top of Harry's head gave a particularly nasty throb, Uncle Vernon yelped and released Harry as though he had received an electric shock. Some invisible force seemed to have surged through his nephew, making him impossible to hold.

Panting, Harry fell forwards over the hydrangea bush, straightened up and stared around. There was no sign of what had caused the loud cracking noise, but there were several faces peering through various nearby windows. Harry stuffed his wand hastily back into his jeans and stomped down the street away from number four, not caring about Uncle Vernon's bellowed reminders that Harry had better not be back later than Dudley.

Harry was sure the cracking noise had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. Every few steps he glanced back over his shoulder. Someone magical had been near him as he lay among Aunt Petunia's dying begonias, he was sure of it. Why hadn't they spoken to him, why hadn't they made contact, why were they hiding now?

Every day this summer, as Harry had measured the four solid weeks he had been trapped at Privet Drive, had been the same: the tension as he searched for a discarded paper or snuck around to hear the news, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again…and always, growing more insistent all the time, the question of why nothing had happened yet. Voldemort had returned! Why was he laying low?

As far as Harry knew, Voldemort much preferred a shadowy but direct approach, as the last wizarding war had been fraught with Death Eater attacks on wizards and muggles alike, with killings highlighted by the Dark Mark, and the Death Eaters and Voldemort always slipping away, uncaught. But there had been nothing of the sort all summer, and Harry had likewise heard no news of their own side, the people opposing Voldemort. In short, Harry had been completely cut off from the wizarding world for a full month, and he was sick of it.

Hearing raucous voices approaching, Harry paused. Then, recognizing them, he slipped into the shadow of a nearby alleyway, that connected Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was a shortcut to and from a nearby park where Harry often went during the day to get away from number four, and consequently was frequented by Dudley returning home from a night out with his gang. He heard Dudley call goodnight to his friends at the other end of the alley, and footsteps as Dudley began to walk down the darkened track between the tall privacy fences on his way home. As he stood waiting, he barely noticed that his head no longer hurt at all.

Harry debated simply staying where he was, pressed against the wall. Dudley would most likely pass straight by him, as night was falling in earnest now, and Harry could avoid a confrontation and stay out as late as he wished. For a moment, childishly, he considered sticking out a foot to trip his cousin, but decided against it. While Harry was not remotely afraid of Dudley anymore, he knew that either action would most likely end with Uncle Vernon following up on his threat to lock Harry in the shed if he came home late again, let alone if he "assaulted" their precious Diddykins.

Then, when Dudley was less than ten feet away and Harry had finally decided to simply shadow him back home, it happened. Dudley gasped, a sudden bitter chill swept through the alley, and all light—from the streetlamps to the fat moon overhead—vanished.

"Wh-who's there?" Harry heard Dudley call. "What's going on? Is that you, Freak?"

"Dudley, shut up!" Harry snapped back in a whisper, turning on the spot slowly.

"I kn-knew it!" Dudley half-shouted, half-whimpered. "But you're not supposed to u-use it outside that freak school you go to! I've g-gone blind! What did you d-do to me?"

"I didn't do anything, you idiot!" Harry growled back. "There's something comi—" But before he could finish, Harry heard the sounds he had been dreading. The whisper of a cloak trailing on the ground, a slight disturbance in the air…and a long, slow, rattling breath like a drowned man's final gasp.

"Is that y-you?" said Dudley, his voice rising in panic. "C-cut it out with that D-Darth Vader shit. P-Please." Suddenly he was pleading. "Please. No. Don't tell Dad. Don't l-let them find out ab-bout meee…" Dudley trailed off in shudder.

"Dudley!" Harry hissed. "Where are you? Get over here so I can protect you! _Lumos_!" Harry's wand tip suddenly lit like a torch, casting a narrow beam of light across the mouth of the alleyway where he stood. He pointed it down the alley and repeated, "Dudley! Come here!"

The wandlight illuminated Dudley's back, but he didn't reply. He was backing slowly away from something further down the alley. As Dudley moved, apparently without realizing, toward him, Harry saw what his cousin was retreating from—two impossibly tall figures in hooded cloaks, from whose cowled depths the rattling breathing issued.

Dementors.

Harry was frozen in shock at seeing Dementors here—Here! In Little Whinging! The most thoroughly nonmagical place Harry knew of!

Dudley stumbled backwards and tripped. He threw up an arm to protect himself as the Dementors bore down upon him. Dudley screamed, and seemed to shrink somewhat, to diminish. At the same time, one of the Dementors leaned down, and knocked his hand aside. As it did so, however, its trailing cloak burst into flame. The burning dementor retreated, _receded_, and its fellow seemed to hesitate. That was all Harry needed.

Focusing on the happiest memory he could think of—not easy considering the summer he'd had so far—Harry pointed his wand at the Dementors and roared, "_Expecto patronum_!"

A silvery stag erupted from the lit tip of Harry's wand and charged the Dementors. The patronus passed right through Dudley, who had scrambled to his feet again, and lowered its antlered head. The silver prongs caught both Dementors in the chest, driving them back down the alley, where they swooped away in defeat, one of them still trailing smoke.

"W-wh-what happened?" Dudley said, stopping a few steps away from Harry as the streetlights behind them burst suddenly back into life, and the moon and stars seemed to suddenly reignite. He was still staring down the alleyway, apparently not even caring that he had his back to Harry with his wand out. "What w-was that?"

"Dementors," Harry breathed.

"I…I saw…like shadows. Darker than black. Reaching out for me."

Harry blinked in surprise. Muggles couldn't see Dementors; he was certain of it. It was one of the reasons Voldemort favored them so much. But Dudley was not describing Dementors correctly—they were dark, yes, in their black cloaks, but they did not appear incorporeal. As Harry knew well, Dementors were all too real.

"They…eat happiness," he summarized for his cousin. "I learned to fight them two years ago."

"I felt like I'd never be cheerful again. I h-heard voices. Mum and Dad saying…" Dudley trailed off, finally shambling around to face Harry, who quickly extinguished his wand and returned it to the waistband of his jeans.

Before he could think what else to say, Harry heard running footsteps at the far end of the alley. Not wishing to answer awkward questions, he seized Dudley's sleeve and pulled him across Wisteria Walk and back onto Privet Drive. Dudley shivered, which made Harry aware that he too was soaked in cold sweat.

"Have you got any chocolate on you?" he asked Dudley. His cousin stared at him stupidly for a moment, then shook his head.

"Not allowed…" he mumbled. Harry could have kicked himself—of course, this _would_ have to happen only after Dudley had been on a boxer's diet for a year.

"Well, you need it," Harry said firmly, taking in Dudley's pallor. "My teacher and the school nurse recommended it after dealing with Dementors. I've got some upstairs. Come on."

He led the unresisting Dudley around the house to the back door, and then upstairs to his bedroom. Dudley collapsed in Harry's desk chair. As Harry dropped to his hands and knees to crawl under his bed, he pondered that Dudley probably would have smashed the chair to pieces if he had done that just a year ago. Now, Dudley honestly looked a bit gaunt. Harry wrenched up the loose floorboard under the bed, and pulled out a wrapped bar of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate.

Crawling back out, he unwrapped it, broke off a piece for himself, and passed the rest to Dudley. Dudley took the candy and just stared at it, then at Harry. Harry held up the piece he had broken off and very deliberately took a bite. When Dudley still didn't move, Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Come on, 'Big D', you've eaten more than that on a cheat day before. Go on, eat it. It'll help," he finished, thinking fondly of Professor Lupin as he echoed the man's words.

The faint smile fell off his face when he remembered that Lupin was leaving him as much in the dark as Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and everyone else. The good news was that Harry's sudden scowl apparently frightened Dudley into eating the chocolate. He took a large but hesitant bite, then moaned as Honeydukes' Best melted in his mouth. Dudley devoured the rest of the bar quickly, then got slowly to his feet, his eyes still fixed on Harry.

"You…saved my life," he said quietly.

"Not really," said Harry, a little awkwardly. "It was your soul the dementor would have taken…that's not remotely comforting, is it?"

Dudley, whose eyes were wide, shook his head, looking pale again. Sliding back to the floor, Harry pulled out another bar of chocolate before pounding the loose floorboard back into place. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and tossed the second bar to Dudley.

"Eat that too," he advised. "And be careful, out there. They were probably after me, but…" Harry trailed off, realizing what was likely to happen now. He had used magic outside of school. There was probably a letter from the Ministry on its way to him, right now. In fact, given the Ministry's attitude toward him at the moment, there might well be Ministry officials on their way to the house to expel him at that very moment…

Turning his back on Dudley, he opened the window so that any owls arriving could get into the house without tapping at the glass of one of the windows downstairs and upsetting his Aunt and Uncle. Then, he began throwing his belongings pell-mell into his school trunk, which stood open at the foot of his bed.

"What're you doing?"

Harry paused in the act of flinging _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ across the room. He had completely dismissed Dudley, and hadn't realized the other boy was still in the room.

"As Uncle Vernon likes to remind me," Harry answered slowly, crossing the room to instead stack the book inside the trunk, "Wizards are not allowed to use magic outside of school before we come of age. It's a law—The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. As this would be considered my second offense…" Harry snorted—his 'first' offense had been due to a hover charm cast by the house-elf Dobby—and placed _Achievements in Charming_ into his trunks as well. "I'm probably going to get into trouble with the Ministry of Magic. Again."

"What will they do?"

"I don't plan to find out, frankly," said Harry, forcing the lid of his trunk shut. Fortunately, Hedwig was away, so Harry was able to pack her cage into his trunk along with everything else…though it made for a tight fit.

Before he could say anything else, however, two owls swooped through the open window. One was a small screech owl, which bore a letter from the Ministry of Magic. Harry took the letter from the owl, noted the return address in the Improper Use of Magic Office, and promptly stuffed it into his pocket. He knew what it would say and did not much feel like facing it. The second owl, a handsome barn owl, which bore a very short scroll from Mr. Weasley, warning Harry to neither leave the house nor surrender his wand.

Harry frowned. How was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand if Ministry officials came calling. He'd have to use magic to resist them, which could easily turn into duelling—if he did that, he'd be lucky to escape arrest, much less expulsion. But, perhaps if they already thought he was gone…

Harry opened his trunk again, and dug through it until he found the soft silkiness of his father's invisibility cloak. This he draped on the edge of the bed before sitting down on the trunk to reread Mr. Weasley's hasty note. A small scuffing noise then alerted him that Dudley was _still_ in the room.

"I've been instructed not to run," Harry supplied, in answer to his cousin's raised eyebrow. He was surprised—he would have figured the sight of just one owl would be enough to send Dudley scrambling for the safety of his room. Although, given what he had already faced tonight, perhaps Dudley just didn't have it in him to be scared by post birds anymore. "By my best friend's father, who works for the Ministry in a different department."

"What's going to happen now, then?" Dudley asked, carefully eating the second chocolate bar. There was something else that had changed—a year ago half the bar would have been smeared over Dudley's cheeks instead of in his mouth.

"I don't know, Dudley," Harry sighed. He pressed his palms to his forehead. Dudley scuffed his feet again when Harry looked back up at him, apparently marshaling his thoughts or gathering his courage for what he was about to say next.

"So…you must have seen—"

But his words were drowned out by a rumbling impact that shook the whole house. Harry heard Uncle Vernon's muffled swearing from downstairs, and the pictures in the hallway falling to the floor, glass shattering. He leapt to his feet and dashed to the window again. Outside in the street stood…a giant robot? It stood in the shape of a man nearly twenty feet tall, and seemed to be made of enormous plates of red and purple metal. It looked to Harry like something out of one of Dudley's video games. It turned slowly on the spot until its glowing red eyes faced Harry's window.

"Targets acquired," the machine rumbled in a dead, metallic voice. "Surrender and come quietly." The robot's arm then suddenly extended straight toward Harry, who dove away from the window and behind the bed.

"What the f—" Dudley shouted, as Aunt Petunia screamed from downstairs.

"Dudley, run!" Harry yelled, bounding to his feet and whipping the invisibility cloak around himself. He pushed Dudley ahead of him out of the room and down the stairs, then roared "Get out the back door!" at the elder Dursleys, both of whom were standing, frozen, in the sitting room, staring out through Aunt Petunia's net curtains at the robot's monstrous purple feet. Dudley rushed forward to grab their hands, and the entire ceiling started to collapse inward.

Harry drew his wand at once. "_Wingardium leviosa_!" The falling debris, which might have crushed all three of the Dursleys, suddenly flew upwards to shatter against the robot's face. It staggered back a step, and the Dursleys were finally spurred into action. Before they could so much as cross the room, though, there was a tremendous BOOM that cut through the air before a plane came shooting out of the distance. It landed directly on Privet Drive, and half a dozen people piled out of the hatch.

"New targets acquired," rumbled the robot. "Unidentified mutants: stand down and surrender, you are under arrest."

"Not gonna happen, bub!" roared one of the newcomers.

"Targets confirmed hostile." A loud beep came from the robot's chest. "Backup requested."

The Dursleys, who had almost reached Harry, had stopped again, staring back toward the street and the people who had emerged from the jet. One man, apparently the leader, wore a dark blue outfit with gold straps and a similarly gold-colored visor, set with what looked like a reddish crystal. He glanced at his fellows and began snapping orders.

"Wolverine, stay with the Blackbird! Dazzler, drop the Sentinel! Nightcrawler, retrieve the targets! Jubilee, cover him!"

Before any of the others could respond, all of them had to dive out of the way of a narrow beam of energy which fired from the sentinel's hand, tearing up the road. What might once have been a fountain of water from the pipes below the street emerged as a mere trickle, evidence of the ongoing drought.

The leader's hand flew to the side of his visor, which suddenly emitted a red blast like the sentinel's, knocking the robot back a step. A young woman, not much older than Harry and wearing a short brown jacket, stepped forward to join him. She clapped her hands together to form a finger-gun, and fired a pinkish beam of her own at the machine. Staggered, the sentinel came crashing to the ground in the middle of the cul de sac at the end of Privet Drive, fortunately not crushing any of the houses there.

"Do not be afraid," said a woman's voice in Harry's head. A gasp from his left told him that Dudley had heard it, too. "We are here to help you both. The sentinel is here for you; we must take you away from here so that your family will be safe. I will explain the situation to them; please take the hand that is offered you."

Before Harry or Dudley could begin to wonder what that meant, there was a loud pop and a burst of foul-smelling smoke behind them. Harry whirled around and found…something extending a hand. The person before him had blue fur all over his body, pointed ears, yellow eyes with no apparent pupils, and a narrow, whiplike tail. However, true to what the voice had said, he was offering each of them a three-fingered hand to grab. Still, neither boy immediately took his hand, until a girl's voice said, "Well, hurry up, won't ya?"

Another girl about their age—in a banana-yellow trenchcoat of all things—leaned out from behind the blue person and gestured at them impatiently. "C'mon, while the sentinel's down and before its buddies arrive!"

Harry slid his wand away and hesitantly took the offered hand, looking at Dudley. Dudley, however, was looking over his shoulder at his parents. Uncle Vernon was purple-faced in rage, and Aunt Petunia looked like she was about to faint.

"MY OWN SON!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, bringing a shaking finger up to point at Harry. "YOU DID THIS, DIDN'T YOU? WASN'T ENOUGH TO BE A FREAK YOURSELF, YOU HAD TO GO AND TURN DUDLEY INTO ONE TOO? GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, THE BOTH OF YOU, AND NEVER COME BACK!"

Dudley paled, and reached behind him blindly for the blue person's other hand. The moment he did so, the girl grabbed the strange boy's shoulders and said, "Let's go, Kurt!"

In the blink of an eye, Harry found himself immersed in another choking cloud of smoke. As it cleared away, he saw that he was now standing at the foot of the ramp leading up to the jet.

"Go on, now, into ze Blackbird," the blue-furred boy ushered them in a faint but distinct German accent.

"We're clear," shouted the leader. "Everyone fall back!"

Harry and Dudley were pushed into seats by a short man with wild hair. "Buckle up, kiddos, because we're blastin' the hell outta Kansas," he rasped.

The leader took the pilot's seat, while the brown-jacketed girl sat in the copilot's chair. On Harry's other side from Dudley sat the blue-furred boy who had retrieved them, while the girl in the yellow jacket and a graceful red-haired woman took the seats facing them. The wild-haired man raised the ramp, before leaning against the wall next to the final seat, which was already occupied by what appeared to be a blue-furred yeti.

Harry was afforded one last glance at Privet Drive, the entire front of number four more or less torn off, before the jet rose and all he could see was the night sky. Then, all at once, everyone was flung to the limits of their safety harnesses.

"Course locked in, autopilot engaged," called the man in the pilot's seat, apparently to the passengers at large. "Destination: home. ETA 78 minutes."

Finally, the acceleration eased, and everyone was able to sit up properly again. Harry looked around. Dudley simply looked terrified. The short man who had shoved them into their seats looked bored. Everyone else was looking at the two of them eagerly.

"Er…" said Harry awkwardly. He supposed he should be used to feeling eyes on him, given his fame at school, but he never liked it. "Thanks, I guess."

"You _guess_?" said the girl in the yellow jacket, a little skeptically. "Like you had that under control?"

Harry shrugged. "I could have dealt with it," he said. "Not easily though. So maybe you're right, and I should just say, thanks."

"No problem," she grinned in response, pushing her pink sunglasses up to her forehead to reveal dark, almond-shaped eyes.

"So, er, where are we going?" Harry asked after a moment, since Dudley didn't seem about to break the silence, and everyone else was still staring at him.

"Somewhere safe," said the pilot, rotating his chair so that he could face Harry and Dudley. His voice was suited to command, Harry thought. It was also, he suddenly realized, American—in fact, most of their voices had been. This raised a rather pertinent question in Harry's mind.

"Where, though?" Harry insisted. Privet Drive was only perhaps an hour from London by broom, and though he wasn't entirely sure where The Burrow actually stood, he, Ron, Fred and George had reached it in less than three hours while flying Mr. Weasley's old car.

"Headquarters," said the girl in the short jacket, likewise spinning her chair to face them. She blew a bright pink bubble with her gum, and popped it loudly.

"Knock it off, Punk Rock," growled the wild-looking man from the back of the plane. 'Punk Rock' smirked; evidently it was an ongoing byplay.

Finally, the red-haired woman across from them spoke up, this time in her real voice instead of in their heads. "We're returning to Westchester to meet with the Professor."

"In Cheshire?" Dudley asked. Harry blinked, having had no idea Dudley knew anything about geography.

The woman smiled. "No, dear, in New York." Both boys' eyes widened, and they spoke at the same time.

"I can't leave England!" Harry blurted out.

"You can't get there in seventy-eight minutes!" Dudley cried.

"One at a time," the leader said. He pointed at Dudley, "First, we're currently flying at three-and-a-half times the speed of sound, so factoring for wind resistance it will actually be just over an hour and twenty minutes. Second," his finger now tracked over to Harry, "Is there a particular reason you _don't_ want to get away from that sentinel, no matter how you planned to 'deal with it'?"

Dudley looked dumbstruck. Harry frowned. "There's…things…I've got to do," Harry explained. "I've got to stay. If you could drop me off in Devon, I can take care of myself until school starts. I've got to go back to school" he added lamely.

Harry could not see the man's eyebrows behind his suit, mask, and visor, but he was sure they rose; the man's disbelief was almost palpable.

"How very…persuasive," the leader said finally. "Regardless, you are both being evacuated for your own safety. We came as quickly as we could to retrieve you both, before you could be captured by the likes of the sentinels or whatever the local chapter of the Friends of Humanity calls itself. Before you could be hurt or exploited or killed simply for having special abilities. Like us."

'Like us?' Were they all wizards? Was this how American wizards dressed and acted? Harry, busy raising his own eyebrows, did not see Dudley's eyes widen in shock. "Not like it would be the first time," Harry grumbled.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," said the red-haired woman. "Rest assured, you will be safe with us, and nobody will hurt you like that again."

"Fat chance," Harry snorted. "We're at war."

"War?" questioned the leader.

Harry was getting more confused by the minute. "I'm Harry Potter," he clarified.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," the woman replied. "My name is Jean Grey." There was not a flicker of recognition from anyone in the plane.

"Do you…not know who I am?" Harry asked slowly.

"Should we?" asked the girl in the yellow jacket.

Harry's mind whirled. These people couldn't be wizards; even the foreign wizards at the Quidditch World Cup last year had recognized Harry. He had grown to realize that he would never escape his fame, even before Voldemort became fixated on him once more. But none of these strangers showed any sign that they had heard his name before. Harry nervously flattened his bangs and shook his head.

The leader and Jean looked at each other for a moment. Plainly, they did not believe Harry's current denial.

"Who exactly are you?" Harry hastened to ask, eager to draw their attention onto another subject.

The other two continued their wordless exchange for a few more seconds, before the leader gave a tiny sigh and straightened up. "My name is Scott Summers; if you'd like, you can call me Cyclops," he said, tapping his visor gently. "My copilot is Alison Blaire—"

"Stage name Dazzler," she interrupted, popping another bubble and grinning at the growl from behind them.

"Jubilee," said the girl in yellow, giving a peace sign and winking at Harry.

"Kurt Wagner," chimed in the blue-furred boy she had been with. "In ze circus, zey called me Nightcrawler."

"Dr. Henry McCoy," said the yeti-like creature in a pleasant voice. "Callsign Beast, for obvious reasons."

"And finally, the grumpy one by the door is Logan, codename Wolverine," Jean finished, since Logan did not seem eager to speak up. Instead, he snorted and pulled a large cigar from the pocket of his leather jacket. He bit off the end and clamped it in his teeth, but did not light it, for which Harry was grateful.

"Now then," Jean finished. "If you are Harry, then this must be your cousin, Dudley, yes?"

"Y-yeah," said Harry. He glanced at his cousin himself. "Er, you all right, Dudley?"

Dudley, still looking pinched compared to normal, now appeared pale and shaken. "Y-you're all…" he stammered, looking around the jet. "L-like…m-me?"

"Like you both, yes," said Jean comfortingly.

Dudley looked at Harry. "He's not like us," he told Jean. "He's…different."

"Er," said Harry, more baffled than ever. "Do you know them, Dudley?"

Dudley, for his part, turned to Harry and whispered quickly, "It's a secret, what you are, right? About…you know…what happened in the alley? And your school?"

Harry nodded slowly, not sure where Dudley was going with this.

"They must have got you by accident because of that," said Dudley, his voice a little steadier at last, though still sounding shocked. "I bet it's easy to mistake."

Harry, still lost and a bit surprised that Dudley has figured something out before him, asked, "Mistake for what?"

"For…For a mutant."

Harry blinked in surprise again, his mind whirling as fast as Cyclops had said the jet was flying. Dudley was a mutant? That would explain Uncle Vernon's parting words. So the strange abilities that all these people had exhibited were mutant powers? Glancing at the two passengers with blue fur, he supposed that made sense. And they thought that _he_ was a mutant? Dudley probably had a point, they must have mistaken his magic for a mutant ability, but as magic was a secret, he couldn't very well demonstrate it to correct them.

And with every passing moment, they were getting further away from Britain, his friends, and Hogwarts.

Harry nodded to Dudley, then turned to Jean and asked, "When can I go back?"

"Well," she said, sounding surprised. "Once your power is under control, I suppose would be the soonest. Usually people stay on with us, though. It's easier for our kind, at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Harry pressed on, "And that's a school for…" he glanced at Dudley. "For mutants?"

"That is correct," Jean said. "Professor Xavier is very gifted himself, and he has made it his mission to extend any help he can to young mutants, especially those who are just coming into their powers, who often find themselves neglected or even abused."

"You look the part more than he does, frankly," Dazzler put in. Harry raised an eyebrow. Dazzler popped her gum, ignored the grumbled threats from Wolverine's corner, and clarified, "No offense, but you're pretty skinny. Your cousin looks like he's got some square meals in him, at least."

Neither Harry's nor Dudley's slight wince went unnoticed by the others.

"Anyway," said Harry, trying to get control of the conversation again. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend I'm normal, but I'm not a mutant."

_"…Each takes his way; some would to pleasures go,_  
><em>Some to the wars and thunder<em>  
><em>Of alarms.<em>

_'As good go anywhere,' they say,_  
><em>'As to benumb<em>  
><em>Both knees and heart, in crying night and day…<em>  
><em>But no hearing."<em>

Beast's mellifluous voice seemed to fill the plane as he recited the poem. He smiled a fanged smile at them and clarified, "George Herbert, somewhat paraphrased."

Harry tilted his head, thinking over the poem. "You…think I'm in denial?" he asked finally.

The fanged smile widened, but Harry found it friendly rather than threatening. Rather than an affirmation, though, Beast simply added, "_We know what we are, but know not what we may be._ Shakespeare, of course."

Harry sighed. "I know exactly what I am; it's just not what you seem to think."

"What are ya, then?" Jubilee asked.

Harry sighed. "I can't tell you." Again, Harry could practically feel the disbelief around him. "It's not that I'm trying to be all mysterious or that I'm not grateful to you all for helping us back there, but it's against the law for me to tell you."

"Against what law?" Cyclops asked. "Whose law?"

"Well…_our_ law," said Harry awkwardly, hanging his head. "It's called the International Statute of Secrecy. The full name…would actually violate the law itself to tell you. Sorry."

They were all staring at him now, even Dudley. Perhaps he was surprised that wizards really had laws? That sounded like something he might have absorbed from Uncle Vernon, despite the evidence to the contrary.

"He's telling the truth, Scott," said Jean suddenly. Harry looked at Cyclops, but the man was instead looking toward the back of the plane.

Following his gaze, Harry found himself looking into the scowling face of Wolverine. After a moment, the feral-looking man shook his head and growled, "No change in his scent or his heartrate. He's bein' honest, Slim. Or he thinks he is."

"We won't press you, Harry," Jean told him, drawing his attention back onto her. "Neither you nor we are in any sort of danger right now, so we'll let you discuss this with the Professor. If he agrees, then we won't bring up…your secret…again. Still, according to our scans, you register as a mutant despite…whatever your secret may be. Cerebro has hit some distortions before, but has never been wrong yet when it comes to detecting young mutants as strong as you two." She gave them both a gentle smile. "The combination of energy and brainwaves that mutants give off is very distinctive."

Harry, finding his mouth open, shut it and slowly shook his head. If there was a chance, even a chance, that they were right…well, he had to know. And if they were wrong, there was bound to be somewhere in America where he could buy some floo powder or make contact with the wizarding world again; they would be able to help him get home.

And what about Dudley? Harry glanced sideways at his cousin. If Dudley was a mutant, it was probably for the best that he get away from Vernon and Petunia, at least for a little while.

Not wanting to talk anymore, Harry leaned back and shut his eyes, giving one last smile to Jubilee, what was still grinning at him. He heard her strike up a conversation with Wolverine, but given his poor sleep habits the summer so far, Harry was unsurprised to find himself drifting into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Crossovers are just too much fun.

I don't know if the rest of the Marvelverse is going to figure into this story, since I'm mostly going to be focusing on the X-Men. Note that despite the "all media types" tag, I am going to be showing a lot of my own interpretations of these characters. In the X-Men's case, this is heavily influenced by the (cheesy but awesome) oldschool cartoon, but will not be shackled by that show's canon. I will probably be playing fast and loose with characters' ages, but then again, it's X-Men, so you might not even notice.

Finally, as noted above, pairings are not yet finalized, as I want to see how the characters play off each other first.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2:** Edited slightly to reduce the frankly ridiculous number of people I brought out to deal with one lousy sentinel. Honestly, seven is still a bit much, but there is are at least story-reasons for there to be that many.


	2. Hypotheses

Meanwhile, at the hidden headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, chaos reigned.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS?" bellowed a red-faced Molly Weasley.

Normally, Sirius might have roared at her to keep it down, especially since her screams of rage had woken the snoozing picture of his mother, Walburga Black, and sent her into one of her shrieking fits, weeping about blood traitors and mudbloods and other such desecrations to the name of wizard. In this instance, however, he was quite on Molly's side: Harry was missing, and that was simply unacceptable.

The target of Molly's ire, an unkempt-looking wizard with droopy eyes like a basset hound's, shrank away from her. He looked like would have liked nothing more than to disapparate, but Dumbledore himself had cast the jinx which prevented Mundungus Fletcher from doing so. Considering the usual use of that jinx was to stop criminals from fleeing before they could be arrested and their wands confiscated, it was saying something that Dung was permitted to keep his.

For Mundungus had been the one on duty when Harry disappeared—Mundungus the one who had disapparated from outside number four Privet Drive shortly after the opening broadcast of the eight o'clock news, who had been away when Harry ran into trouble and needed help. Sirius himself was panicking: the simple fact was that Harry's breach of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been the Patronus Charm. There were only two creatures in the world that merited the use of a Patronus, and one of them couldn't exist in the climate of England. That left only one possibility in Sirius' mind.

His godson had been attacked by Dementors while Mundungus was supposed to be guarding him, and had been forced to defend himself. Harry was now facing potential expulsion from school, possibly even arrest if the whisperings around the Ministry were to be believed. The idea should have been ludicrous—arresting a child for defending himself against the darkest creatures to ever exist? But then, this was the same Ministry that had seen Sirius himself imprisoned for twelve years without trial. Harry, at least, had Dumbledore sticking up for him as he had not been there to stick up for Sirius, and while Sirius would never forget that Dumbledore had let him rot for more than a decade, he was desperately glad that Harry, at least, would get a hearing, and would have Dumbledore on his side.

The problem, of course, was that Harry was missing. The owl that had been sent by the Improper Use of Magic Office to inform Harry of his hearing on 12 August had returned to the Ministry with its letter undelivered. The Ministry tried to use this fact to demonstrate that Harry had fled, but once again Dumbledore intervened, pointing out that even wizards who were on the run, such as Sirius himself had been until recently, could be found by post owls. Not that the Ministry knew that Sirius had settled down, of course. The fact remained, however, that post owls could even locate someone hidden by a Fidelius Charm, despite the sender being unaware of the intended recipient's location.

Since the letter could not be delivered, Dumbledore had argued before an emergency session of the Wizengamot, the law according due process to those accused of criminal activities had not been fulfilled. He had, at least for the moment, successfully convinced enough members of the court to overrule those calling for Harry to be tried _in absentia_. That he had managed this even after the Ministry had demoted him from his position as the Wizengamot's Chief Warlock was nothing short of miraculous.

Still, all in all, Sirius supposed that he could admit he would have been satisfied if the Dementor attack and Ministry hearing was all that he had to worry about—he would not be pleased, of course, and he would certainly be worried, but Harry knew how to take care of himself, and Dumbledore was convinced that the Ministry couldn't possibly expel Harry in such a matter of self-defense. Sirius had to agree: Harry was accused of breaking the Statute of Secrecy by using magic in a muggle-inhabited area, and in the presence of a muggle, but the muggle in question was known beyond a doubt to be his cousin, Dudley Dursley, who was fully aware of the existence of magic, and there had been no other witnesses, no memories to modify, nothing to cover up.

As the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery also made provisions for self-defense—and casting a Patronus at a Dementor would certainly be considered the last defense of one's life in any sane court—Harry's hearing should be a formality. It wouldn't be, since the Ministry was looking for any excuse to discredit him wherever possible, but even so Sirius would have been optimistic.

But it wasn't just that. On top of all of those problems was the _slightly_ more pressing matter that Harry had vanished, apparently without a trace. His Aunt and Uncle's car had been located at a small motel a few hours away, but nobody knew what they were apparently running from, and the Ministry couldn't be arsed to actually ask them any questions. Dudley Dursley was as completely gone as Harry was.

Harry's school trunk had been found in the wreckage of Privet Drive, along with the suitcase Dudley apparently took with him to his own boarding school, which the latter had never unpacked for the summer. Harry's trunk, despite appearing to have been packed very hastily, contained almost all of his possessions, including his owl's empty cage. Harry's prized broomstick had also been found, suggesting that Harry had _not_ gone on the run.

Remus had searched the area, and could find no trace of Harry or anything else except a scent trail that went suddenly cold in the middle of the broken house, and an odd burnt smell in the street. There was no scent of blood or any of the usual signs of a battle. More perplexing still, while Harry's vanishing trail might have been attributed to his somehow taking to the sky despite leaving his broomstick behind, his trail had been closely accompanied by Dudley's, which had disappeared at the same spot. The Knight Bus had been called, but neither the conductors nor any of the passengers remembered seeing anyone get on, and the employees insisted that the Bus had not been to the neighborhood. Remus was now tracking down the elder Dursleys, since the Ministry was unwilling to.

The only evidence that Harry had not somehow been kidnapped was the lack of any magical trace of foul play. Dumbledore had examined the area himself, and had found no curses cast and none of the disturbances left by the passage of a Portkey. The only spell he could detect was a hover charm that he thought might have been Harry's. Strong though Harry might be for his age, his singular hover charm was definitely _not_ capable of removing the front third of the house, and smashing up most of the street, no matter how creatively he applied it. Dumbledore's final note was that the only thing seemingly missing from Harry's trunk was was his Invisibility Cloak.

Together, this all suggested that wherever Harry and Dudley were, they were most likely together, and had gone willingly, without putting up a fight or any spells being cast. The only apparent possible method of travel was Apparition, but who would both Harry, who had been told to stay put until he was retrieved, and his notoriously magic-phobic cousin, willingly leave with? And how had whoever it was gotten away without leaving any scent behind themselves?

Dumbledore was apparently questioning the handful of people he knew who had the magical strength and focus necessary for Side-Along Apparition, cross-referencing with who might have the magical knowledge and wherewithal to hide their scent, but nobody at headquarters had heard from him in hours. Sirius, confined there in a bad mood, had been 'guarding' Mundungus when Molly arrived to have a go at the man.

_Wherever you are, Harry…please be safe…_

* * *

><p>Harry jolted awake when someone gently flicked the end of his nose. Jerking his head back and blinking rapidly, he saw Dazzler smirking down at him before a blown bubble momentarily obscured her mouth.<p>

"You sure are a heavy sleeper," she commented. "C'mon, Professor X wants to talk to you."

Harry tried to stand up, but had forgotten the seatbelt. After a moment of fiddling, it released, and he stood to stretch. Following Dazzler down the Blackbird's ramp and out of the plane hangar, he was surprised to see the sun hanging just above the horizon. Following his gaze, she popped another bubble and grinned. "Welcome to the States, where we drive on the other side of the road and nobody has a fancy accent like yours—well, except the Professor. We're also about five hours behind you, so you might be a little jet-lagged for a while."

Dazzler led Harry into a large estate that he thought looked like a place where someone like Malfoy might live. Not that Harry was poor, exactly, but the Potters, while pureblood, were certainly not semi-noble old money like the Malfoys or the Blacks. More of a _nouveau riche_ for the wizarding world. Once he was inside the manor, however, Harry had to review his assessment. Posh though the large house undoubtedly was, there was a certain warmth to the surroundings that Harry simply couldn't see the Malfoys appreciating.

They met Dudley exiting a mahogany door on the ground floor in what Harry thought was the West wing of the house. He smiled uncertainly at Harry, who took in Dudley's tense posture and the small silver key in his large hand.

"Will you be staying, then?" Harry asked, curious.

Dudley flinched, but answered in a low voice. "You heard what Da—what Vernon said. He doesn't want to see either of us again."

Harry shrugged. "I've been hearing that for years," he reminded Dudley.

"I'm sorry," Dudley mumbled. "You still…still saved my life earlier." He shifted the key to his left hand and held out his right. Harry, still a little surprised, took it and shook. Harry watched Dudley round the corner out of sight, back toward the central stairway, then turned to find Dazzler watching him keenly.

"What?" he asked, self-conscious.

"Didn't you two…I dunno, live together?" she said pointedly.

"We don't get along," Harry replied. Then he glanced in the direction Dudley had disappeared and clarified. "Or we didn't. I guess we're making a fresh start."

Seeming to take him at his word, she gestured him through the door Dudley had exited. "Professor Xavier's waiting for you."

Entering, Harry found himself reminded strongly of walking into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, though there were few superficial similarities. No whirring and puffing silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables here, no moving portraits adorned the walls, and no phoenix perched beside the door. The bookshelves lining the walls were familiar, though, as was the large window with a view of the grounds—albeit from the ground floor rather than a tower—and the desk standing in the center of the room. The man behind the desk also called Professor Dumbledore strongly to Harry's mind, though like the rooms, the two men could not have looked more different.

Where Dumbledore was tall, with long silver hair and beard and prominent wrinkles, Professor Xavier looked younger, like a man simply out of his prime. He was bald and clean-shaven, and wore a neat suit rather than Dumbledore's characteristically eccentric robes. Harry also couldn't hazard a guess at his height, for this man was in a wheelchair, with a comfortable-looking blanket covering his legs. When his eyes met Harry's, however, the twinkle there reminded Harry very strongly of his Headmaster, as did this man's sense of energy, which seemed to suit a much younger man.

"Welcome, Mister Potter," the bald man said. His voice, though quiet, carried easily across the room. "Won't you please have a seat?" He had a distinct—if oddly flattened by his time in America—Oxford accent, with notes of what Harry thought might be Yorkshire here and there. All in all, the effect was very pleasant, and went a long way to helping Harry feel at ease.

Harry sat as he was asked, noticing as he did so that they were not alone: Cyclops stood behind the Professor's shoulder, one hand resting on the back of the wheelchair. He had changed into casual clothes, a flannel shirt over jeans, and was wearing what looked like red sunglasses instead of his visor from earlier. Off to the side, the man called Wolverine leaned against the bookcase with his arms folded, his unlit cigar still clamped in his teeth as he gazed pensively out the window.

"Thank you, Miss Blaire, you may go," the Professor added to Dazzler.

Harry waved, and she grinned at him. "Come say 'bye' before you leave," she said to Harry. She nodded to the Professor, and popped her gum loudly as she shut the door behind her, making Wolverine growl about making her run extra laps. Harry heard her laugh as the door closed, and found himself smiling too.

"Thank you as well, for joining us, Mister Potter. My name is Charles Xavier," Professor Xavier continued, with an encouraging smile of his own. "And allow me to be, if not the first, then the most personally pleased to welcome you to the Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters, a boarding school established for the sake of young mutants like yourself.

"I understand," he continued, and here he glanced at Cyclops, "That there was some excitement involved with your pickup?"

Harry nodded, unsure what to say to that. When it was clear he wasn't going to speak, Xavier continued.

"I feel I should make abundantly clear, Harry—if I may be so presumptuous as to use your given name—that what occurred at your home was not your fault. It is not typical, and we are still looking into the possible causes."

Harry shrugged at this. While the appearance of the giant robot…the sentinel, he remembered…was surprising, it had signalled the end of Harry's exile to Privet Drive. The house was wrecked, but everyone was alive, so Harry honestly saw little to be upset about. Professor Xavier's eyebrows contracted slightly, but he continued as if untroubled.

"Given this rather unusual circumstance, not to mention the remoteness of your home compared to the school, I would like to formally extend you an invitation to stay here at the Institute. Your cousin, Mister Dursley, implied that your guardians would not object."

Harry snorted before he could stop himself. The Dursleys would not give a damn where Harry was, so long as it wasn't with them. They were most pleased that he was at Hogwarts ten months out of the year, and could only be more pleased by the fact that there was now an ocean separating them.

Noticing the looks of surprise on Xavier's and Cyclops' faces, and that even Wolverine had raised an eyebrow, Harry finally spoke. "He's right, they won't care."

Now Xavier gave a real frown. "Harry, as Miss Grey likely mentioned on the plane, it is not unusual for young mutants to face prejudice or even abuse. However, that is not something you will have to fear here at the institute. While your sudden appearance here may raise some questions, I have some friends working in the British Consulate here in New York. They are already working with the Department of State to grant you a student visa, so there should be no legal issue with you remaining here. You are assuredly not the first, nor will you be the last, foreign youth to find himself here."

Taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, Harry replied, "Thank you, Professor Xavier, sir. But, what about my school? Term starts on 1 September, and my teachers will be concerned…" he trailed off.

"Ah, yes, the young Mister Dursley implied that you were very attached to your school. We would not dream of preventing you from returning in due course, but at this moment it may be dangerous for you to do so."

Thinking of what he had faced at Hogwarts so far in his four years there, Harry could only shrug again. "It usually is, sir, but it's home."

"That, Harry, is how I hope you will come to think of this Institute," Xavier said. "As a home. I confess I don't know how your education has progressed, but here, there should be no danger to you that cannot be easily dealt with. There is the occasional flaring of tempers, and the potential for a loss of what self-control the average teenager possesses…" Here he gave a gentle smile. "But our staff is perfectly capable of handling any such incident, even with the inclusion of mutant abilities, and I am proud to say that in the life of this Academy, there have been no serious injuries sustained by any of her students."

Well, that was certainly a point over Hogwarts, where he found himself in the Hospital Wing at least once every year, Harry thought wryly. Still, his school and especially the Headmaster were not likely to take his disappearance lying down. He wondered how long it would take for them to discover him, and what they would do. Would they simply whisk him away back to Hogwarts?

"Er, Professor," said Harry. "Are you…quite sure there hasn't been some mistake, like we discussed on the plane?" He glanced at Cyclops, unsure if he had told Xavier about their earlier conversation.

Evidently he had not, for Xavier turned to him and asked, "Scott?"

Cyclops drew himself up like a soldier and summarized, "Mister Dursley seemed aware that he was a mutant when we picked him up, and it appears that his parents have a certain intolerance for anything 'abnormal'. He and Mister Potter had a short discussion after we explained why we came, and Mister Dursley implied that we had, perhaps, picked up Mister Potter by accident, indicating that we in some way mistook him for a mutant. Mister Potter himself also seemed to expect to be recognized, by name if not on sight, and was surprised when he was not."

"The big one asked him if 'what he was' and his school were a secret," Wolverine put in. Harry's head whipped around. His and Dudley's conversation had been held in whispers, he was certain that nobody could have overheard them. Wolverine simply smirked. "Kid, I could hear yer heartbeat over the jet engine, hearin' yer voices wasn't a problem even if I couldn't read yer lips."

"Mister Potter…" Xavier said slowly, "Was this school of yours…by any chance in the far North of Scotland?"

Harry stared back at Professor Xavier. He knew. He had to know, or he wouldn't have known to ask that question. Was he a wizard? But why would a wizard open a school for mutants? For that matter, shouldn't a British wizard of Xavier's apparent age know perfectly well who Harry was? There were too many unanswered questions, and Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Still, he could see no reason not to answer the question honestly. "I believe so, sir. I've never been certain exactly where. We take the train North from London every year to get there, you see."

Harry saw something odd flicker across the corner of his vision. Looking around, he saw that Wolverine had pushed himself upright, and was scowling at him. "He's hidin' somethin', Chuck," the wild-looking man growled.

"Thank you, Logan, that will do," Xavier said quellingly. "Go and fetch Miss Rasputin or Miss Sefton, if you would be so kind."

As Wolverine left, Xavier's gaze returned to Harry. "Everyone is entitled to their secrets at my school, Harry, as long as those secrets do not entail a danger to the other students. Can you assure me that this is the case?"

Harry nodded firmly before he heard the door close. He had no intention of using magic here, and knew that even if he did, he would never willingly hurt someone. There was the theoretical possibility that the students could be in danger if Voldemort or the Death Eaters attacked looking for Harry, but as Xavier himself had pointed out… "As long as no one knows I'm here, sir, there can't be any trouble."

Xavier's piercing look that reminded Harry so much of Dumbledore swept through him once more, but then Xavier bowed his head. "That will do to be going on with. Until contact is made, at the very least, can we impose on you to stay here as our guest, Mister Potter? I am still under the impression that we are not mistaken about you, but I would like to confirm my suspicions before we create any further plans. Are you agreeable?"

Harry nodded again. It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go, so he may as well stay here for a few days until he could figure out how to get back in contact with the wizarding world, whether in America or in Britain. Unless, of course, he could convince Xavier to have him returned to Britain, in which case…

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as the door opened again, signalling Wolverine's return. He was followed by two younger girls with blonde hair, who Harry estimated to be perhaps eleven or twelve. They both took seats to Harry's left, looking nervous.

"Thank you both for coming, Miss Sefton, Dama Rasputina," he said calmly, slipping into a coarse-sounding accent for the last two words. "You are not in any trouble; I simply wondered if you might recognize this young man, who I'm told attends a very selective boarding school in the North of Britain."

The two girls cast glances at Harry, and the nearer did a double take. The girl farther away, whom Xavier had addressed in another language, simply shook her head. The one closer to Harry was a different story, however. She took in his untidy hair, round glasses, and green eyes, before Harry saw her eyes perform the familiar flick upward to his forehead. She peered at him, apparently trying to see through his hair, and then clapped her hands to her mouth.

"Oh my god, you're Harry Potter!" she gasped.

Harry sighed. By the girl's accent, she was American, but it appeared that not even the ocean could separate him completely from his fame. The second girl now looked mildly interested, but was at least politely looking him in the eye. The one who had recognized him seemed to be squealing quietly behind her hands.

Cyclops, looking from her to Harry, said, "I take it that's the reaction you were expecting when you introduced yourself on the jet?" Harry shrugged and nodded.

"So what's that about?" said Wolverine. "You some kinda teen heartthrob, kid? Guess there's no accounting for taste…" Harry's guffaws cut off the end of Logan's sentence. Him? A heartthrob?

"Would you care to enlighten us, Miss Sefton?" Xavier asked, though he looked amused.

The girl, who was blushing at both Logan's comments and—apparently—Harry's proximity, slowly lowered her hands and repeated in a strangled voice, "He's _Harry Potter_," as if that explained everything. Which he supposed it did…if you happened to be magical. Did that make this Miss Sefton a witch?

Cyclops opened his mouth, but Xavier merely raised a hand, silencing his protégé. He then nodded encouragingly at the young girl.

"He's…he's like the most famous person!" the blonde continued. "He's done all sorts of amazing things; he's fought evil and saved his school and rescued his friends who were kidnapped and turned to stone and fought dragons and mermen and sphinxes and giant spiders, and do you really have a flying car?" She addressed the last breathless question to Harry, still blushing furiously.

"Er, no," said Harry. "I, er, borrowed that. I think my godfather has a flying motorbike, though."

"Careful, kid, she'll swoon," Logan snarked. The girl shot him a dirty look, then turned back to Xavier.

"Professor, is he going here? Is he a mutant too?" Once again, she turned to address Harry halfway through. "Did something happen that you can't go back to Hogwarts? Are you gonna learn magic here with us instead?"

Harry froze, not due to her naming of Hogwarts, since the name wouldn't mean anything to a muggle, but because of her casual mention of magic. While he certainly didn't know anything about the laws of magical America, he was absolutely certain that the Statute of Secrecy still applied—it was an International standard!

Harry made his eyes widen and said, "Magic? What are you talking about?" He knew it was unconvincing, but didn't know what else he supposed to do. The girl looked hugely confused.

"But…but you're Harry Potter…"

"Yeah, midget, we've established that," Wolverine put in. The girl ignored him.

"So why are you…" then her eyes widened in understanding. She looked back at Xavier and said hurriedly, "If you remember, sir, witches and wizards are bound by law to keep magic a secret from nonmagical people, and I don't think Harry realized that you know about it."

Harry looked hurriedly at Xavier, who smiled. "Yes, indeed, though since I am not familiar with your apparent fame, I also did not wish to divulge that secret. I hope you can forgive our misunderstanding, Mister Potter."

"So he's a magic-user?" Cyclops inquired. Both Xavier and both blonde girls nodded. "And that's why you thought we had made a mistake in picking you up?" he added to Harry.

"Right," said Harry. "So then…Professor Xavier, do you know Professor Dumbledore?"

"Only by reputation," Xavier replied. "I had discussed with Lord Braddock the possibility that we would have to snatch away some British mutants, and he agreed to help smooth things over with both the Queen's government and Merlyn's. I will inform him that Mister Potter is here, and I am certain he will get the message to the right people.

"That being said, I would still like Mister Potter to remain if possible. Magician or not, Cerebro detected emissions of mutant energy from you as well as from your cousin, and I do not think it possible that your cousin alone could have put out enough of a signature to catch the attention of a sentinel. Two strong young mutants in close proximity, however, especially if you were recently in some peril…" He trailed off at the look on Harry's face, and gestured for Harry to explain.

"Dudley and I were attacked by creatures called Dementors," Harry said. "Earlier, or yesterday, or whenever it would have been with the time difference." The girl named Sefton gasped again, and even the other girl looked shocked. Harry ignored them. "I ran them off using magic, and I think Dudley set one on fire. That…must have been his mutant power?"

"And you are certain that you yourself did not feel any different? Nothing has changed about you or your perception of the world?"

"I don't think so, sir."

Xavier was silent for a moment, then said, "Very well, Harry. I think further questions can wait until later. The sun has gone down, which means for you it must feel very late indeed. Miss Sefton, if you would show Mister Potter to the guest suite across the hall, and to the kitchen?"

The girl bounded to her feet, nodding eagerly, and Harry suppressed a sigh. She reminded him a little of how Ginny used to be, or Colin Creevey: overwhelmed by the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived, and unable to see how uncomfortable Harry was with his fame. Still, those two had learned, and Harry thought of both of them as friends—hopefully it would be the same with this girl.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him away, still blushing and ignoring Wolverine's chuckles. She showed him to a door stained in warm chestnut tones down the hallway on the opposite side, and pushed it open to reveal a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed and attached bathroom.

"Here's where you'll stay for now," she said. "It's way nicer than the dorms upstairs, but you're like a guest of honor, so that's no surprise! My name's Amanda Sefton, by the way. Are you hungry?"

Harry, who had eaten nothing that day but a cheese sandwich at lunchtime and a mouthful of chocolate after his run-in with the Dementors, nodded.

"C'mon, the kitchen is this way!" She again grabbed his hand and led him back down the way he had come with Dazzler, across the entrance parlor and into the East wing, chattering all the while. "The Professor's study and our classrooms are over here in the West wing. That's the central staircase that leads up to the dorms. Over there is the rec room where people hang out if they're not in the commons upstairs or if they want Wolverine or Gambit to hustle them at pool. We have a big dining room here even though usually it's not that full. The kitchen's this way; sounds like there's some people in there. Not that weird, since a whole bunch of people just got back from picking you up."

Harry's head whirled as he tried to keep everything she told him straight, his feet following her automatically toward the kitchen, and wondering what was going on elsewhere.

* * *

><p>Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny all tugged at the long, flesh-coloured strings they had been holding to their ears. The twins' prototype Extendable Ears coiled themselves neatly, having quickly retreated from the door downstairs where the emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was breaking up. Fortunately, in their haste to discuss the matter of Harry, the Order had forgotten to place their usual Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.<p>

The five of them returned to Ron's guest bedroom and arranged themselves on the two beds to discuss what they had overheard while eavesdropping, and Fred quickly dealt a hand of Exploding Snap, so that they could pretend to be absorbed in the game if they were checked on.

"So," George said in a low voice. "Even Dumbledore still doesn't know where Harry is, and Lupin can't get the Dursleys to talk to him."

"At least Snape says You-Know-Who is just as confused as we are," said Ginny.

"And if the Death Eaters knew anything, he'd tell Dumbledore right away," Hermione agreed.

"We hope," grumbled Ron. Ginny scowled and flicked one of her cards at him. He tried to catch it, but it ignited, sending the rest of the cards in his hand up in flames as well, and leaving him to suck on his burnt fingers.

"Don't say that," said Hermione.

"Still, George's point stands," said Fred. "I'm worried. Didn't you hear Moody's report? He and Kingsley finally got out there, and Moody says that the damage to the house and the street is textbook for a giant attack."

"There's no sign of approach or escape, though, and even You-Know-Who can't apparate a giant," George countered. "Dumbledore says there's no evidence of any spells being cast except Harry's Hover Charm."

"He must have flown away," said Ron for the umpteenth time. "There's no other way for him to have just up and disappeared with no trace."

"Without his broom, Ronniekins?" Fred asked skeptically, pointing to the corner of the room, where Harry's Firebolt stood next to his fully-packed trunk. Both had been retrieved during Dumbledore's last inspection of Privet Drive.

"He could have had another one!" Ron insisted. "Firebolts are all limited, so they're all registered. That one's definitely Harry's by the serial number, but he could have nicked one from the school broom shed or bought a cheap one to throw people off the scent when he flew away under the Cloak."

Harry's invisibility cloak had become public knowledge among the five of them when they started eavesdropping, and they clung to the fact that he had it because it meant he wouldn't be defenseless, wherever he was.

Ron's broomstick idea was nothing new, but it was the only viable possibility any of them could come up with, other than Sirius' mysterious-trusted-apparator hypothesis. Neither guess explained where Harry's cousin had gone or why, but nobody seemed very concerned about that except for Hermione, who was quite certain that Harry's hearing at the Ministry—assuming he was able to attend it—would include a charge of kidnapping a muggle. Not that the Ministry had ever cared before, she griped, but it would be quite within their current act.

She was surprised there hadn't been anything in the _Daily Prophet_, though she supposed the newspaper had not yet got to the point where they were willing to highlight the Ministry's own incompetence just to get a jab at Harry. Particularly when they were already doing so several time a week. Ugh.

Wherever Harry was, she hoped he wouldn't have to deal with as much negative press, at least.

* * *

><p>"I don't like it," Wolverine growled as the door closed behind Illyana Rasputin, who had done her best to summarize Harry Potter's known adventures to date. "Caught in the lie or not, the kid tried to hide that he's bein' targeted by a madman. He's in the middle of a damn war, and he says with a straight face that he ain't gonna attract trouble? I know trouble, Chuck, and I c'n tell that kid's a magnet for it."<p>

"All the more reason for us to offer him what help we can, Logan," Xavier replied. "Mister Potter is guilty of nothing more than trying to uphold his own society's laws. Given the worries that were dancing around his mind, concerning what seems to be a rather unjust government, I should think that the X-Men would be _entirely_ sympathetic."

Wolverine merely scoffed at this pointed reply, but Cyclops looked decidedly uncomfortable. "You're not suggesting we stand against this Ministry of Magic, are you, Professor? Noble as it is to help those in need, we already have a cause to champion, and nigh-insurmountable obstacles of our own."

"I intend nothing of the sort at this time," Xavier said firmly. "Harry is a guest here, and will be treated as such until he decides to leave us or to stay on a student. I am hopeful that he will choose the latter, as it will allow us to study his development more closely. You see, while his scans from Cerebro did indicate that he was able to access an outside energy source—that being his magical power—in addition to his own distinctive mutant energy signature, there were also further readings that I still do not understand…from both Mister Potter _and_ Mister Dursley."

"You were aware he was a magic-user all along, Professor?" Scott asked, surprised.

"I…suspected, yes," Xavier admitted. "I kept this to myself for several reasons. Primarily, my suspicions were mere guesswork. Beyond that…I have had no opportunity to scan for pure magic-users with Cerebro, which is obviously fine-tuned to seek out mutants. Our own handful of magic-users are themselves difficult to pinpoint with Cerebro, because high concentrations of magic appear to have a deleterious effect on electrical systems. Were it not for his proximity to Mister Dursley, I doubt we would have detected Mister Potter at all.

"Finally, I kept my silence about magic because I wished to see what Mister Potter's reaction would be, if gently pressed. I found him to be a shrewd young man, unfailingly polite and often wronged. He shows signs of a neglected, if not abusive past, but holds no grudges against the frankly anti-magical people who raised him—only a deep-seated wish to be free of them. He shows signs of both a talent for teaching and a liking for defending those around him, a willingness to work for what he perceives as the greater good, and a truly astounding courage that has led him to face all the dangers Miss Rasputina mentioned and more. Truly, if I was not certain his loyalty was placed elsewhere, I would recommend he be put in training as an X-Cadet based on his personality profile alone."

Cyclops sighed, staring at the door Potter had exited by and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Should we test him secretly like the rest, Professor?"

"I think not, Scott," Xavier replied. "I believe that where this particular young man is concerned, we will get the best results simply by asking, rather than by trying to manipulate him. You can do so when he awakens tomorrow."

"I understand, sir," said Scott, drawing himself up once more. Even Logan nodded grudgingly. Then, his voice growing concerned, Scott added, "It's late, Professor…"

"Yes, indeed. Goodnight, Scott, Logan."

"G'night Chuck," Wolverine said, crossing to the window, opening it, and vaulting out into the night to light his cigar at last.

Rolling his eyes behind his ruby quartz glasses, Cyclops shut the window behind his teammate. "Good night, Professor."

* * *

><p>Harry entered the kitchen behind Amanda, and found Dazzler and Jean Grey sitting with another girl around Harry's age.<p>

"Hiya Alison, Betsy, Ms Grey!" chirped the excitable blonde. "Is there anything good left to eat?"

"Just some TV dinners," said Dazzler, gesturing at the plastic tray in front of her. "So no, nothing good left. Seriously, I don't know why we buy these things."

"Wolverine buys them," Jean replied. "He doesn't exactly have to worry about his cholesterol or sodium intake, you see?" All the women chuckled at this. Harry, who didn't get the joke, just smiled awkwardly.

When Amanda turned to him, he said, in answer to her unasked question, "I'm not picky. I can even make something if it's not any trouble."

"No trouble at all, Harry," Jean assured him. "We've got some eggs and bread at least, since our weekly grocery run is, unfortunately, tomorrow. On which note, I think I will say goodnight."

As they all said goodbye, Amanda showed Harry where to find a frying pan, and he was soon frying up what Mrs Weasley called 'Eggy In A Basket'. As he worked, he studiously tried to ignore the three young women at the table who were blatantly gossiping about him. Given his past at Hogwarts, this wasn't exactly a new experience for Harry, though the fact that the almost-whispers seemed generally positive was a plus.

"He's so modest!" giggled Amanda. "And his accent is even cuter than I'd imagined—cuter than Betsy's for sure."

"An' what's that mean, luv?" asked the girl Harry hadn't met, Betsy. Her accent was upper-crust London, Harry thought. Not that different from some of the Dursley's neighbors on Privet Drive. "Should your boyfriend be jealous of him, or me?" She tossed her long, curly, black hair and smirked at Amanda, who was blushing again.

Dazzler snorted. She had thrown her midriff jacket over the back of the chair she was sitting on, leaving her in a high-necked halter top made of the same heavy leather and other dark grey material that the others had worn on the jet. It had a sunburst design on the front, done in yellow, which was replicated on the thighs of her equally-dark combat pants. She also wore a black headband in her short, dark red hair. As he slid his food onto a plate he had found in a nearby cabinet, Harry reflected that the getup would probably make for poor stealth. But then, since she could apparently shoot pink energy blasts from her fingertips, perhaps she wasn't concerned about that.

As the three were plainly distracted by their chat, Harry bolted the food standing at the kitchen island, quickly cleaned the utensils he had dirtied, and quietly slipped out of the kitchen. Glancing back, he saw Dazzler tip him a wink over Amanda's shoulder. He grinned back at her, waved goodnight, and returned to the guest room he had been shown.

Closing the door behind him and sitting down on the bed, he contemplated what tomorrow would likely bring. If at all possible, he needed to find a way to make contact with Dumbledore. He would have to ask Amanda if she knew of any transoceanic magical communications. Or perhaps Professor Xavier would have an idea. Sighing, Harry got undressed and climbed into bed, grateful that his guest bed was a four-poster, which made him feel a little more at home. Slipping his wand under his pillow, and collapsing bonelessly on top of it, Harry fell asleep almost at once.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Yeah, I'm basically pulling Xavier from the movies and no one else. It's not that important, but my own conception of the X-Men is basically based around taking the good qualities from every depiction and blending them with my own understanding of the characters.

Xavier politely addresses Illyana as "Дама Распутина", which would mean something like "Lady Rasputin", accounting for the feminine version of her last name. At least, I think it would be polite: any russophones who want to correct me, feel free.

Fred and George do not and will not use "twin-speak" to finish each other's sentences because _they never __**ever**__ do that in canon._

I am also officially declaring this alternate reality to be Earth-62442.


End file.
